Atheism in Nepal: My Story of Rejecting Belief in a Religious Society

I was ambidextrous when I was a kid. I could write with both hands. But in my heart, I was always left-handed. When my dad told me to choose, I picked my left hand. Since then, writing with my right hand became nearly impossible. But what does my handedness have to do with atheism in Nepal?

As a child, I was scared of offending God. Every time I placed a diya, I worried about getting it wrong. My mom said it should face one way. My grandma insisted on the opposite. I was terrified of making a mistake. Then I began to wonder. If God is loving, why would something so small upset Him?

That’s when the questions about atheism in Nepal started.

Why Does God Hate the Left-Handed?

Over time, I began to embrace my left-handedness. It became a part of who I was. I even joined left-handers groups on Facebook. In Nepal, using your left hand to eat is seen as rude. But in 7th grade, I picked up a spoon with my left hand and never looked back.

Then people told me I couldn’t use my left hand during religious rituals. Why? Why does their God hate left-handed people? I started digging. Turns out, 10-20% of people in the world are left-handed. Lefties are born, not made. It’s natural. Even animals can be left-handed. So why does their God hate something natural?

Does their God even exist, or is it all just bullshit?

My Journey into Atheism in Nepal: Embracing New Atheism

I was a night owl. I never slept at night. Instead, I spent hours watching YouTube videos. My insomnia led me to discover fascinating topics on the internet. From psychology to philosophy. I would stay up all night, go to college at 6 a.m., and come back to my hostel at 10 a.m. After lunch, I’d finally crash.

It was during one of these late-night explorations that I stumbled upon New Atheism. I started devouring content from people like Sam Harris, Richard Dawkins, Dan Dennett, and Christopher Hitchens. The more I listened, the more convinced I became. My doubts about God turned into certainty. I realized God didn’t exist. All the stories, rules, and rituals we were taught were bullshit.

Why Gods Just Don’t Make Sense: A Journey into Atheism in Nepal

Suffering is everywhere. You see it in war, poverty, and disease. People lose their loved ones. Children go hungry. The world is full of pain. If there’s a loving, all-powerful God, why does He allow this?

Epicurus asked the same question. If God is willing to prevent evil but not able, then He’s not all-powerful. If He’s able but not willing, then He’s not good. If He’s both able and willing, then where does evil come from? And if He’s neither able nor willing, why call Him God?

The problem of evil shakes the foundation of belief. How can an all-knowing, all-loving being stand by while innocent people suffer? It doesn’t add up. Either God isn’t there, or He doesn’t care. This contradiction is what pushed me further away from religion.

I couldn’t reconcile a loving God with the pain I saw in the world. If this is His plan, it’s a cruel one.

And Hinduism doesn’t make it any better. It’s the same mess, just with more gods. A logical person has to perform mental gymnastics to make sense of it. We’re supposed to believe in gods who demand rituals and offerings, yet still let the world suffer. If they’re so powerful, why not fix it? If they’re loving, why do they need offerings?

Growing up, I was taught to follow these gods. To fear their wrath if I didn’t follow the rules. But the rules never made sense. I remember being told not to use my left hand in rituals. Why? Why does it matter which hand I use to hold a diya? How can an all-knowing god care about something so trivial? And if He does, what does that say about Him?

It felt more like a game of control than a true path to spirituality. Like we’re being taught to follow blindly, not to question. But the more I thought about it, the more the whole thing fell apart. These gods, with their human flaws and demands, didn’t seem like gods at all. They felt like stories made to keep people in line.

The more I questioned, the more I realized how much religion asks you to ignore reality. It asks you to believe things that don’t hold up under scrutiny. Gods that demand sacrifices, rituals, and obedience but still allow suffering and pain. A system that punishes curiosity and rewards blind faith.

That’s not how I want to live. I don’t want to ignore the contradictions, the suffering, the hypocrisy. I want answers that make sense. And religion, whether it’s Hinduism or any other, doesn’t provide them.

It’s easy to see why Epicurus challenged the idea of God. The world is full of suffering, and the gods do nothing. Either they can’t, or they don’t care. And if that’s the case, why worship them at all?

I decided to stop bending over backward to make sense of it. I stopped pretending that these rituals had meaning. I stopped believing that a loving God could sit back and watch the world burn. For me, the problem of evil wasn’t just a question. It was the answer. There is no God. There never was. And that’s okay.

Because now, I can focus on reality. On what I know to be true. No more empty prayers. No more rituals that mean nothing. Just life as it is. Real and raw. And I’ll take that over blind faith any day.

Caught Between Atheism and Tradition: The Emotional Blackmail of Parental Expectations

I’ve always believed that culture and religion are separate things. You can be an atheist and still visit a temple. For an atheist, a temple isn’t about gods. It’s about art. Beautiful buildings. Creative expression. But as I get older, I feel more pressure to follow tradition. Family and society expect it.

I didn’t want to wear the janai. The sacred thread that goes around your body. The ritual is called bartabanda. I didn’t want any part of it. But at 26, I had to go through with it. My parents, aunts, cousins—they all pressured me. I caved.

I don’t want to celebrate Dashain anymore either. I’ve always said we need more excuses to celebrate, not just religious ones. I’m secular. I’d celebrate Christmas, Eid, anything. The world is full of pain and suffering. We need more reasons to party, even if God doesn’t exist. But Dashain? It feels wrong now.

Every year, I naturally lift my left hand to put on tika. And every year, someone corrects me. “Use your right hand.” It’s annoying. I feel offended. It’s my hand. It’s who I am. If they can’t accept my natural being, why should I accept their traditions? I want to reject them. But I can’t. My family forces me to celebrate.

It’s a constant struggle. Cognitive dissonance. It goes against my values, but I’m stuck in it. And I hate it.

Finding Meaning in a Godless World

Religion gives people a sense of purpose and meaning. It’s a way to cope with the chaos and suffering in the world. But how do you find that without believing in God?

Philosophy offers alternatives. Stoicism teaches us to focus on what we can control, accepting suffering as part of life. Existentialism, as thinkers like Kierkegaard and Sartre proposed, challenges us to create our own meaning in a world that offers none. This is where absurdism, particularly in the works of Albert Camus, becomes crucial. He argued that while life may be inherently meaningless, the act of creating our own purpose is an act of rebellion against that meaninglessness.

Psychology supports this idea too. Research shows that finding personal meaning contributes significantly to well-being. Viktor Frankl’s concept of logotherapy suggests that even in the worst of conditions, like the concentration camps he survived, humans can find purpose and resilience by identifying something to live for​. Meta-analyses also reveal that people who actively search for meaning in their lives tend to report greater happiness, as long as they can define their goals and values clearly​.

On a practical level, existential psychology encourages reflection, asking questions like, “What do I value?” and “How do I want to live my life?” By focusing on self-created goals rather than relying on an external deity, we can build a life that feels meaningful to us. Writing down these goals, as suggested by wise interventions in psychology, can even enhance this sense of purpose.

So, in a world without God, meaning isn’t handed to us. We have to make it ourselves. But in that process, we gain something far more valuable: ownership over our lives. The ability to navigate suffering and find joy on our own terms. It’s about finding meaning in the moment, in our relationships, and in the goals we set for ourselves. Life may be finite, but that’s what makes each moment worth something​.

Spirituality Without Beliefs: Finding Connection Beyond Religion

I love Buddhism. I love that the Buddha encouraged people to question everything. He didn’t ask for blind faith. He urged you to try for yourself, to test the teachings. It’s empirical. It’s experimental. That’s what drew me in. But Buddhism, like any other religion, comes with its own set of dogmas and superstitions.

There’s the belief in rebirth. In Tibetan Buddhism, there’s the tulku system, where they claim to find reincarnations of spiritual leaders. A lot of this doesn’t make sense to me. It feels like tradition more than truth. We need to separate the wheat from the chaff. Keep what works. Let go of the rest.

What works for me is meditation. Pure awareness. Awareness of awareness. The state where you aren’t lost in thoughts but simply aware of them. It’s not tied to any belief system. You don’t need to believe in reincarnation or gods to meditate. You just need to sit with yourself and observe.

Finding “This”—the true self, pure awareness—is the key. It’s beyond beliefs, beyond rituals. It’s direct experience. No dogma. No supernatural claims. Just awareness. You can experience it right now. It’s the stillness that’s always there, behind the noise of your mind.

For me, that’s the essence of spirituality. It’s not about believing in something outside of yourself. It’s about connecting with the awareness within. The part of you that simply observes. That’s where I find meaning. Not in rebirth or rituals, but in the direct experience of “This”—the awareness that’s always present.

Conclusion

Being an atheist in Nepal, where over 80% of the population identifies as Hindu, isn’t easy. It’s not just about rejecting gods; it’s about rejecting a way of life that’s deeply ingrained in the culture. Family, society, festivals—they all revolve around religious beliefs. And when you don’t follow the script, people notice. They question you. They pressure you to conform.

I’ve been there. The cognitive dissonance is real. On one hand, I want to respect my family’s traditions. On the other hand, I can’t pretend to believe in something I’ve rejected. The rituals feel empty to me. The rules, arbitrary. And when I lift my left hand during Dashain, I’m reminded that my natural self doesn’t fit their mold.

But I’ve learned to live with that tension. In rejecting their beliefs, I’ve found my own sense of meaning. Through philosophy, psychology, and meditation, I’ve created my own path. It’s not always easy. It’s not always accepted. But it’s mine.

The world is full of suffering and unanswered questions. And in a place where most people look to gods for answers, being an atheist can feel isolating. But I’ve found freedom in creating my own purpose. No gods. No rituals. Just life as it is—raw, real, and enough.